


Gaijin

by that_runneth



Series: E-Empire [1]
Category: Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_runneth/pseuds/that_runneth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first ENCOM server breaks down in 1986. Some of the programs are recovered later, with Yori and the rewritten Ram amongst them, but none of them remembers their past. They are sold to different companies: Ram goes to Switzerland to work for a bank and Yori becomes the navigation software of the Japan Airlines. Unable to retrieve their memories they both start a new life in the virtual world of the '90s, where entities with artificial intelligence and Users are living and working closely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sakura

 

1986

 

 The event was the only thing she would remember later, for very long time. There was a sudden silence descending on the system: everybody on the street looked up, astonished. The angular clouds on the dark blue sky froze and then scattered to pixels – the ever dark sky turned to violet, deep and then flaming red. The sky was burning now and just then she realized that something was wrong, that something was horribly wrong. Then the terrifying silence ended and an ear busting explosion rocked the ground. The tallest buildings of the city shook and collapsed and large cracks appeared on the sky. Most of the passers-by were lying on the ground by then, wounded and deaf after the blast. Yori was standing, leant to a wall, her hearing coming back slowly.

 

_Remember._

 

  Workers ran out of the buildings, to the aid of the wounded. She straightened herself, almost ready to proceed. Another thunder shook the system and everybody looked up: the burning panels of the sky were hovering now, about to fall down. Yori was strangely calm, even happy because she knew that

 

  …

 

_Who?_

 

  was outside of the system and safe in

 

  …

 

_Where?_

 

  and that

 

  …

 

_Who?_

 

  would come now and fix the system errors. But then the sky which was on fire, plummeted, crashing the buildings, the running programs; the whole system. The flames engulfed her: the pain was excruciating for long moments before the final explosion blacked out the lights and destroyed the city.

 

 

1999

 

  “Ohayou gozaimasu, Yori-san,” the even-toned, bodiless female voice said; the curtain lifted and the light of the rising sun filled the room. She turned in the bed and opened her eyes: outside of the glass a mild, blue haze covered the city. It was enormous with its skyscrapers and boulevards: the holovision now projected the real time image of the Shinjuku. The panoramic view slowly changed and the Mount Fuji appeared on the left, mighty and beautiful as on the day she had first seen it. Yori was sitting on the edge of the bed by the time the view of the Tokyo bay filled the window. A cup of green tea was on the nightstand next to the bed.

 

  She blinked and the view changed. The window turned to an enormous screen: it was a divided image now, with satellite pictures of Tokyo, the islands of Japan and other locations, with blinking dots which represented the aircrafts of the Japan Airlines – most of them were in the air, others were taxiing at different airports and a few were standing in hangars. A long line of numbers showed up on the right side, reports and statements from the previous seven minutes, when the sentient part of Yori had been resting – her automated side, which never stopped had been awake during that period as well and would have awaken her in case of emergency or an unscheduled event. So far everything seemed to work methodically, without problems and malfunctions. Yori reached for the cup and lifted it to her lips. The energy tasted like sencha tea; that was what the shadows - computerized imprints of living and once living people – used to say.

 

  Yori stood up. The holovision returned and the view of Chiba City came in sight, on the other side of the Tokyo bay. The room was located in the JAL building, in Shinagawa. Yori’s automated part never left the place and usually her conscious side was there or around just the same. The locals had used to call her gaijin: it had taken years, hundreds of cycles for her to become Yori-san for them, Yori, for a few, and Sakura, for only one: she had no intention to endanger that reputation. There was a tall mirror on the wall; she walked there and put her hands on the two sides of the glass. Her nightgown changed to a black leather jacket, black gloves, satin pants and high-heeled boots – everything was the digital copy of the latest Gucci collection. Yori stepped back and looked at the mirror. Her blonde hair was short and curly now and she wore dark blue eyeliner. The last parts of her regular attire were lying on the drawer next to the mirror: sunglasses and a kaiken; she carried the short dagger under her jacket. The window deactivated and the lights turned down when Yori walked out of the room.

 

 

1991

 

  They were sitting-lying in the large exam chairs. The place was odd, different from everything she had seen before. The floor and the walls were black, the chairs, the door and the lights piercing white. It took time for her to recover: for long she kept on turning offline, escaping from the pain. Then the misery eased and disappeared; she looked up, at the row of the chairs – fifteen chairs, and three of them empty. Sadness descended on her: such a small group of survivors, out of… She almost cried out loudly: she was able to recall the event, but everything else, her memories of the city, her friends, her earlier life, were gone. She even had hard time to recall the name of the program that was sitting next to her.

 

  “Ram!” she exclaimed. He looked at Yori.

 

  “You woke up,” he said, relieved. He wore a white jumpsuit, similar to the others’, his dark hair was rumpled. First Yori could not tell what was so unusual about his appearance, then she realized that she had never seen Ram without his helmet. She rose quickly. Everything felt different now – but she did not remember, what the base of the comparison was.

 

  “What happened?” she asked.

 

  “There was an explosion,” he replied, then he fell silent. “I can’t remember.”

 

  They stood, facing one another.

 

  “You are Ram,” she said. “You are an actuarial program. We used to be friends.”

 

  “You are Yori,” he said. “Engineer. We are friends. I remember that much and my functions are working. But the rest of my memories are gone.”

 

  “Mine too,” she said desperately. “Was that the event? Or did it get deleted?”

 

  Ram did not reply. They walked to the other survivors: they recognized one another, but none of them remembered their lives before.

 

  “At least we are alive,” Ram said. Yori nodded, slowly.

 

  “How could I mourn them, if I don’t remember who they were?” she asked.

 

 

1999

 

  There was a storm above the South China Sea; all day long she was monitoring the speed an altitude of the flights which crossed the danger zone. Around noon someone attempted to board a flight in Singapore with a suspicious package – she sent another plane into hangar for a minor technical issue. By the time night fell Yori was ready with the daily statements and was already prepared for the next day.

 

  The evenings were harder: during the day there were colors, noises, music and even smells which were particular, belonged solely to this world. When the darkness came and the neon lights lit up, the city changed, became quite similar to the fragmented memory pieces which sometimes resurfaced in her dreams. That other city was a complex one, with buildings of unseen shapes, with design of a distinct culture. The memories were lost and yet she knew that life had been different there: that it had been simpler, rather to the point. When she had first entered the open space, everything had been more than exciting, amazing for her: all the AIs, shadows and the few programs with personalities had had their own style, and the whole world had seemed to be more than colorful and diverse. Some of them were scornful, seemingly looking down on the illogical side of the User world, but even them would be the first to get the job done, and the life in the two worlds became more and more similar as time passed. Their clothes were the copies of the latest User fashion, their hairstyles, tattoos and jewels were designed accordingly. The energy tasted like food; like tea, soup or sake.

 

  Yori was walking on the busy street: she had left the JAL building and was moving in the open communication system of Tokyo. It was more or less the exact duplicate of the city above: even the neon signs and other lights were placed on the walls and above the street in the same manner as in the User world. There was a crowd of AIs, shadows and imprints of Users that were surfing on the internet; and there were other programs as well. Only when she had arrived to her new home she had learned that it was unusual for a program to have own consciousness, that in the open system only the most complex ones had that sort of awareness. There were viruses and other despicable creatures as well, that made through the firewalls, but Yori had no reason to be afraid of them. Had there been a real security breach, like a hacker attack against the computer system of the JAL, she could summon the company’s own security, which was always around her, invisible. Many cycles before she had called it once and she knew that it was not a human looking program, rather something that the Users called ‘dragon’.

 

  She arrived: the building was tall and brightly lit. Yori ran a last check; the navigation system worked fine, according to the expectations. She looked up: the large door on the top of the wide staircase was dark and closed: the private tea room had no distinguishing sign. Yori went upstairs.

 

 

1991

 

  They were sitting in the room in their white jumpsuits. All the programs were very excited: their reconstruction and update had been finished and their different final configuration implied that they were going to be sent to various places. Yori was pacing up and down. The conversations and common meditations had had no results; they were unable to recall their memories - the rest of them seemed to be at peace with that.

 

  “You shouldn’t blame them,” Ram said. He was sitting there, leant to the wall, his legs crossed. “It wouldn’t make a difference anyway. We need to look ahead. This will be different from anything we have seen before.”

 

  She looked at him, at the new name tag on his jumpsuit.

 

  “Ram-2000,” she said, and smiled, involuntarily. “How does it feel?”

 

  He threw his head back and laughed loudly.

 

  “Sehr gut,” he replied. Yori stared at him, stunned.

 

  “I am going to Zurich,” he explained, still smiling. “I’ll be working for the National Bank.”

 

  She could not suppress a surprised cry.

 

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “But promise me that we won’t let each other out of sight.”

 

  Ram jumped on his feet, seized her waist and spun her around. The others pretended that they did not notice the scene – Yori laughed loudly. She was wary about being left behind – but she woke up with a catalogue of new information in her head right after the microcycle when Ram had left. She knew from where the clients had come before she was called to the testing room; and she walked there, slowly, feeling oddly grateful for her capabilities and talent which she had been given by her unknown programmer, for her life which had been spared when so many others had been lost – and for this new opportunity which would provide her with a new home and life, in return for the one which was gone forever.

 

 

1999

 

  They met at a dinner at the Kozue in the Park Hyatt for the first time. By then Yori was working for the JAL since five years: with gravely concentration in the beginning and with silent determination later; her frustration deeply hidden. The work was hard and diverse: she could not even ask for a better fit – it was the encounter with the outside world that caused the disappointment. It was beautiful, full of colors and sounds; but it was also full of waste, corruption and lies as well. She did not make many friends: she and Ram stayed in touch through the years and that relationship was the warmest friendship she had, even if Yori considered her links to the entities around her. Then the invitation to that dinner came and everything changed.

 

  The digital version of the Kozue had been created in the computer system of the Park Hyatt: the interior was the exact duplicate of the upper floor restaurant. The projected windows provided the very same, real-time view that the Users enjoyed while sitting at their tables, overlooking the city. It was the grandest meeting Yori had ever been at: next to the high ranked AIs there were the shadows of the members of the government and royalties. The dinner was less formal than it would have been in the User world, yet it was not quite relaxed either. Just later in the evening did Yori notice the group of local, young men in black suits. They were standing at the wall, talking, seemingly casual, but keeping an eye on the guests: security applications. Yori was looking at them from the other end of the room: then she realized that she and one of the young men were staring at one another straight in the eye.

 

  “Sakura,” he said. Yori looked up. The tea room was dark and safe; they were alone. “You wandered away again.”

 

  “Ryuu-kun,” she replied, “O-chamei wa?”

 

  Those were the words of the ceremony: as always, the instincts worked and restrained her from expressing her real feelings – which might have been considered as weakness. But he sensed the inner struggle and instead of replying in the same manner, he reached there and touched her face. She looked at him: a uniquely efficient program, in the service of the government. Unparalleled in strength and loyalty; for that he could have been arrogant – but he was courteous and attentive.

 

  “You are thinking about them, again,” Ryuu said.  

 

  “I wish I would not…” Yori started and fell silent. Even this moment, she thought, even this was not theirs entirely – because it felt that this or something very similar had happened before. That she had had a life before, with important duties and friends. That she had known the ishin-denshin, the way of talking without words before setting foot on Honshu. That there was something not genuine in the affection she felt for him, that there was something alluring in his qualities – in the patience, serenity or in the simple fact that he was a security program – that seduced her. And this was sad: she should have been happy, but she was not – she should have lived her life, but she was craving for a lost world.

 

  “Why don’t you go and see your friend?” he asked.

 

  “My friend?” she asked back, surprised. His palm was warm against her face and Yori put her hand on his. The sleeve of his robe slid back: like all the newer AIs’, his appearance lacked the distinctive circuitry.

 

  “You’re probably right,” she said.

 

  She walked out of the building alone. It was safer that way: it had happened once when they had been walking on the street in the Shibuya together that a few, upgraded bikes had slowed down next to them. Yori recognized them in an instant: they were of the boryokudan, attacking hacker programs. They were talking excitedly and began to circle around the warrior. Yori reached for her kaiken; then she saw Ryuu’s rather amused smile.

 

  “Go home, Sakura,” he said. “See you soon.”

 

  Ryuu’s friends were already materializing around them, grinning, their katanas out of the hilt. And Yori was running through the crowd which gathered to see the unexpected show, she was strangely lightheaded, almost cheerful.

 

*** 

 

  The trip last for thirty seconds, through an intercontinental phone line; only travelers with a great deal of spare time would tolerate such slowness. The interior of the transport tube looked like a luxury train in the User world: large space and individual television screen belonged to each seat. Outside of the windows there were the endless snow-fields of Siberia. Yori leant back in her comfortable chair; this was the first time she left Japan since her arrival.

 

  “Yes,” Ram said through the transmitter, when she first mentioned the idea of the trip to him. “Come, my love. Let’s watch the skiers and drink hot chocolate together. Leave the world of giri choco behind for a while.”

 

  She was close to burst out laughing: there was nobody around her that would talk in such manner. And she left, constantly staying in contact with the JAL server and with the lines of data running in the back of her mind. Yori could have returned in a nanosecond in case of an event – but so far everything was orderly and for the journey to Zurich she chose this slow and rather old-style form of traveling.

 

  Yori was watching the sunlight which was sparkling on the pure, white snow. Close to her there was a shadow, watching the latest celebrity news on the television; on the stewardess’ cart there were bottles of Coke, Perrier and Starbucks coffee: it was all the same flavored energy. _Funny_ , she thought, _how much we despise the frail side of the Users, how many times we mock at them, and still, our every moment is about mimicking them and their lives_.

 

  Ram was waiting at the Hauptbahnhof: tall, elegant and ever youthful-looking, he was strikingly different from the crowd. She ran there: there were no restrictions here, not even familiar faces.

 

  “So long,” she said.

 

  “I told you to come earlier,” he replied. There was a half-smile on his face. “Ready for the adventure?”

 

 

***

 

  They were sitting in the living room, in front of the fireplace. Ram put his legs on the small smoking table; he was playing with the remote control which changed the color and intensity of the flames. Yori was curled up in a large armchair.

 

  “You ever think about them?” she asked. Ram rolled his eyes.

 

  “I knew that you would ask,” he said. He seemed to be bored. “Haven’t we looked everywhere? Didn’t we search? And what difference does it make?”

 

  The door opened and a tall, slim, very decorative woman walked in; she wore a dark blue costume and stilettos. It was Petra, Ram’s girlfriend; she worked for the German Vogue. She went to Ram and kissed his forehead lightly.

 

  “I’m leaving,” she said. She turned to Yori. “Have a safe trip home tomorrow.”

 

  Ram was watching her leaving with an absentminded smile on his face.

 

  “Where were we,” he said. “We couldn’t even find the company that sold us.”

 

  “We know that we were sold in 1991,” Yori replied.

 

  “But we don’t know when the event was.” He shrugged. “Don’t you have fun? Don’t you like your holiday?”

 

  “I love it. Thank you. But…” She did not finish. It was not fair: and he was right – they had enough on their table. There was work to do, there were Users to serve; and if something, that was the largest issue to face with. There were feelings and hurt behind Ram’s apparent lack of concern regarding their past: cycle by cycle now he had to face the corporate greed and exploitation and that darkened his mood. He felt that before the event he had used to really assist people; that once he had fought against an oppressive regime. That sense of lost innocence gave him some bitterness and black humor: in different ways they both craved for their lost paradise.

 

  “You should come and see my place,” she suggested. Ram laughed.

 

  “Yes,” he said. “You have to show me around. The malls. The Royal Palace. The Fuji. The samurais with their long swords.”

 

  “What?”

 

  “Do they have long swords?” he asked, grinning. Yori was speechless for a moment.

 

  “You can be such a dork sometimes,” she said.

 

  “Just sometimes?” he asked. Yori looked at him and missed him already: she had been such a fool for not coming earlier. Ram must have sensed her feelings, because he extended one hand and took hers. They were sitting like that for long.

 

 

***

 

  Back to the old routine. It was strangely relaxing, oddly welcoming. Day by day with new flights, schedules, passenger lists and regulations. The sky turned grey over the bay: winter came. A bouquet of cherry blossom, sakura, from Ryuu reminded her that they did not depend on the seasons – it warmed her up somehow. She was coming to terms.

 

  Then one day a name appeared on a passenger list and Yori felt a sudden shift. It was not the immediate alarm which sounded in her head when a wanted criminal or a person on a terror watch list tried to board a plane. It was not _dangerous_ , but it was different, it had a meaning. She searched for the name in her own data base: this person had not flown with the Japan Airlines before. Then Yori extended the search on the global network and on the internet.

 

_Lora Baines-Bradley._

 

  Search.

 

  Huge chunks of data started to pile up before her eyes and a passport picture.

 

  _Remember_.

 

  And Yori began to remember.


	2. LAX-NRT

User

 

  “This is the last call for the flight JL61 to Tokyo.”

 

  Nervously, Lora turned. Last minute run to the airport, checking her luggage last, when all the other people in the line were there to get the boarding pass for the next flight – she always tried to avoid that. She was the one sleeping with two alarm clocks on the eve of important events, with the plane ticket and her passport placed on the nightstand before traveling. Not today; today was about phone calls, laundry runs, packing – and it was about the final intimate moments and the kisses of goodbye.

 

  She looked at the entrance once more: a hotel shuttle bus dropped off a group outside of the glass doors. The car which had taken her to the airport was gone, along with its driver. The departure level of the international terminal was busy at this early afternoon hour. Lora was alone: the other members of the US delegation had flown out already from Washington D.C. She could have stayed with them – yet the opportunity to spend a short time at home before the conference was too tempting; and that was what put her here, almost late, with drumming heartbeat… happy.

 

  She got an isle seat; on her right an older, bulky man in a suit was sitting at the window. She put her bag in the overhead bin just before the stewardess came to lock them. The plane was full; business travelers, students and a few families occupied the seats. It was after the winter holidays: she had spent the previous week at home, trying not to ponder about the upcoming conference – and ending up before the computer every night anyway. Lora was working on her speech, even reading it aloud; and nobody blamed her for it, rather than that she was served a cup of freshly brewed tea or a bowl of fruit. The silent attention was soothing and the unpronounced support highly needed: just a very few in the office shared her opinions. Opinions which had been personal until now, but were going to be public matters soon. The internet, which was a playground for many, was soon to be a regulated and inspected area and bills would follow to track personal information, browsing and downloading habits. It was something impalpable, rather mysterious; easy to disregard – but once those efforts would prevail, it would open up the door for new bills, new windows for governments and global companies to keep an eye on people… on users.

 

  “And then, where would it end?” she asked feverishly. But she was not in front of the audience of the coming conference, but in her study, in her nightgown. “How would we stop them, once they set their feet?”

 

  A laughter and a kiss on her forehead; and he was gone with the empty plate. Lora did not hear a single complaint from him throughout the holidays.

 

 _My dear… How would I ever be able to thank your goodness?_ Again she remembered the car as it had disappeared outside of the terminal, the last exchanged kisses. It was something to cherish in the upcoming few days. The turbines of the aircraft roared and the plane lifted up in the air. 

 

 

Program

 

  She was sitting on the brink of the flat roof; down under the virtual underworld of Tokyo was engaged in its daily routine. Yori was still, her eyes closed; behind her the dragon was making circles on the roof. Aware of her changed mood, the security system of the Japan Airlines was alert and on call. She looked up – yet she did not see the lively picture of Shinagawa, but of another universe.

 

  First there was the order and the endless circle of coming tasks. And then the awakening: acknowledging their own existence and the world around themselves. It was overwhelming – they were working just the same, it was the newly found awareness which made the difference, the realization that they were serving greater purposes, that they were serving the Users. It did not change the point, it just made them proud, made them feel special. They, the programs of that system began to connect differently; and she found friendship… she found love.

 

  Yori looked down at her own hands, at the black leather imitation gloves. That other one was a closed system, never been influenced by the User world. Or it was, just in a different way: they often talked about those mighty entities that had created them – yet they did not know that most of them shared the appearance of their Users, not until _he_ arrived.

 

  “Kevin Flynn,” she whispered. The details, the bits of data surfaced in her damaged memory. That was how she learnt that there was a User with the same look as hers – but Yori did not see her, not until finding that passport picture. After so many years in the User world she recognized the signs of aging; she recognized Lora Baines-Bradley. She ran an extensive search for the name after the initial shock passed: newspaper and internet articles popped up, old photographs, diplomas and testimonials. Yori needed more: she had to find the source. And she found it: at a prominent place in Lora’s biography.

 

  _ENCOM._

 

  They had considered the company, Ram and her, but ENCOM had not been selling navigation softwares or bank management systems. With renewed interest, Yori hurried to find out more about the computer giant: on the projector in her room the pages of the ENCOM website were switching rapidly. It stopped at the page that introduced the staff and Yori was glaring at the photo of the company’s senior software manager, Alan Bradley.

 

  A different system, a long forgotten one: slowly, but surely corrupted after the rise of the once respected Master Control Program. It happened slowly, gradually; and throughout the process they were occupied with their tasks, with their own lives and happy moments. Another simulation coming to life under her hands; another return from work, full of happy expectations – because that other one, that program with the face of this User was waiting for her. At the beginning Yori knew that he was an undefeated warrior and protector of the free system and knew, how many others wanted his attention just the same: but the rest was something unexplained, as if he was the answer to a question about what she did not even know it existed. And then, for the first time after almost a thousand cycles, on a rooftop in the digital underworld of Tokyo, Yori spoke the name.

 

  “Tron.”

 

  Now, processing all the new information she finally learnt the answers – too late, for no use anymore. The cycles, the continuation of work and free time: it was a fine life, until the MCP took over and the flow of information, the circle of energy was interrupted. Many fought against the oppressing power, for the Users they had never seen; with him, amongst them. They disappeared, one by one and some of them ran – and Yori was afraid for him, for the most daring and most dangerous for the new ruler. When the time came, he ran, drove away the enemy; he did not turn back even when Yori screamed, betrayed – were not they supposed to die together, after sharing all the happy and tragic moments? But Tron was gone and so was the picket which had come for him.

 

  She was falling: the reduced supply of energy, the punishment of their sector for supporting the rebellion was an ordeal, but it was also an escape: her consciousness diminished, merely focusing on the job. Around them the system collapsed; it did not matter anymore. Not until he returned for her to the Factory Domain. And they were at large again, with the whole system at their heels; yet it was alright then, together again. On the run Flynn joined them; this strange, loud creature, seemingly one of the entertainer applications from the city, definitely program-like. Whether they, Tron and her believed him, believed his claims, it did not change the point and they proceeded together, for their mission to take down the MCP. And they succeeded, surprising the enemy and even themselves. Flynn disappeared in the glowing light which destroyed the MCP and they could only hope that he had made it back home safely.

 

  Busy times followed, of work and rebuilding the system. The lights which she had been missing so much, lit up all around the city again: energy and music filled the once empty streets. Programs lined up at the communication towers to receive instructions from their Users and every time Yori saw them, she remembered that believing in Users was not a question for them anymore.

 

  And then, many cycles later an odd looking sailer appeared above the city and began its slow descent. The programs gathered curiously, to see the arrival and the pilot of the strange vehicle. Yori and Tron were in the first line of the crowd, and they got to see the User first. Flynn was smiling brightly as he jumped down onto the ground and hugged them warmly.

 

  “Greetings, programs!” he exclaimed. They returned the embrace and Yori smiled; not letting the deep, ill premonition to show.

 

  Airplanes were projected onto the sky above the city: the flights of the JAL, visible only for her. Everything was working according to the schedule, without interruptions. She reached out: hanging in the air a console appeared.

 

  “Dial Zurich,” she said.

 

 

User

 

  The first meal was served right after the departure and by the time the dishes were collected, the mainland had been left behind by far. Down under there was the endless-looking blue of the Pacific Ocean: that was the view they were going to watch all the way. Some people were trying to rest, like the man next to Lora: he pulled down the shade and began snoring almost immediately.

 

  She took out her notes to take a last look at them. Once in Tokyo, she wanted to focus on the people, the attendees of the event and in order to do so Lora needed to be assured about her own preparedness. But the job was done and the restless nights had not been for nothing: there was not a word in the speech to exchange for another one, there were no missing statistics. Lora put down the folder and leaned ahead: she took off her shoes.

 

  Another conference, another flight and stay in a hotel, more days spent away from home. All the respect of other professionals and the wider public did not balance the fact that she had been blacklisted since day one. Praised as outspoken advocate of people’s right for unfiltered information and always vocal when it got to censorship and tracking, Lora’s independent views made her persona non grata in certain circles. With too important supporters, too many fans and too bold personality, they could not fire her, but she was kept back or often introduced as one of the experts of an abstract field, who should not be taken really seriously.

  
  “And for that?” she whispered to herself, surprised by the unexpected feeling of discontent. For that she put thousand of miles distance between Alan and her, along with the unnecessary tension. Being a mother should have been more important for her than legislation: and yet she had not left Washington. Instead she took their young son with her and had him start the school in the capital. She convinced Alan to give it a try – and it was a fail. After two months both of them were frustrated and exhausted: Lora from having Jet, their son with her all the time and Alan from the commuting. Jet was still devastated from losing his friends and the place he had known as home. Before they could have decided about the next step, Kevin Flynn went missing and everything changed.

 

  After the initial surprise, after the fear and then despair Lora came to a strange realization: before that she had always thought that Alan and she had been just the same, down to earth, very realistic. As time passed and the police could not find Flynn, Alan was still hopeful, still positive about his friend, convinced that he was alive. Lora was different: she was actually hoping that Flynn was dead. Seeing the devastation, the pain which was left behind, especially the young Sam Flynn, who was there without parents now, she could not imagine an acceptable explanation, a sane reason for Flynn to leave. Had he been alive and absent by his choice, Lora did not want to see him ever again.

 

  For a short while she moved back home and when she returned to Washington, Jet stayed with his father. It was not an easy choice and Lora did consider quitting her job, giving it up for her family. She spent not one night with crying and pondering whether she was a bad mother. Ironically enough, it was Kevin Flynn who helped her make the decision: the way he had left his family, everybody down.

 

  “We trusted you,” Lora whispered, sitting in his son’s bedroom. He was sleeping then, content once more to be back to his life he had gotten used to. To do the right thing, their best possible in both their personal lives and professionally. Kevin Flynn had failed in every possible way; but that did not mean that they were all condemned to follow suit. So she went back to Washington and left their son with Alan. It was now her who began to commute and years later, when the technology became available, telecommute.

 

  And the legacy – the legacy was falling apart. So few of the great ideas had come to reality and so many had remained undelivered. All the great words, speeches and writings: now seemingly not more than the feverish dreams of someone, who had refused to grow up and had lived ahead of his time anyway. And that was alright, that was forgivable; it was the betrayal which was unacceptable, the fact that there was a young man out there, who had been raised without parents. At the same age, Jet Bradley and Sam Flynn were going to graduate from high school the next year.

 

  Lora put her notes away and stood up. Many of her fellow passengers were sleeping by then, others were watching television. A couple, a few seats away, glanced up when she rose. Americans: their intent look suggested that they knew Lora. But she could not recognize them. She went to the restroom and closed the door behind herself. While she was washing her hands she looked at the mirror; Lora gave herself one more moment of solitude before returning to her seat.

 

 

Program

 

  “It happened in 1986, three years before his disappearance.”

 

  “We were restored in 1991. What was taking place in the meantime? Why didn’t he bring us back earlier?”

 

  “No sufficient information to answer.”

 

  “What’s your conclusion?”

 

  “They thought the damage was not repairable. The server was stored, but only years later they were able to get back some information. Us. Flynn was gone by then.”

 

  “ENCOM did not sell us. Who was it?”

 

  “E-COM Communication Systems.”

 

  “How come we couldn’t find this out before?”

 

  “This is confidential information. I found the bank statements and company establishment documentation after you figured that it was ENCOM. E-COM Communications was called to life in 1991 and its only activity was to sell the surviving programs from the restored system.”

 

  “Was it legal?”

 

  “Absolutely. The papers were signed with the authorization of ENCOM shareholders. However without the apparent knowledge of the board. According to the bank statements, your User, Lora Baines-Bradley and my User, Roy Kleinberg, had never been paid a share from the transactions. Roy Kleinberg was fired from ENCOM one year earlier.”

 

  “Why did ENCOM do that?”

 

  “No sufficient information to answer.”

 

  “Ram…”

 

  “The company was going downhill after Flynn had gone missing. They let many of their programmers go. They wanted to get all the money possible out of the company.”

 

…

 

  “What happened to Flynn? Did you find any trace? Any money transfers?”

 

  “Nothing. Disappeared off the face of Earth.”

 

  “Did you find… _him_?”

 

  “Negative.”

 

  “Thank you.”

 

  “Stay in touch. End of line.”

 

 

  ***

 

 

  The Boeing jet was high in the clear air above the water. Ideal flying conditions and a so far eventless day: no reason for the navigation software of the airline to pay extra attention to this flight. Yet she was there, on the aircraft; the cameras were her eyes and the sensors of the jet were her nerve endings.

 

_My User._

 

  Of course it was not true: Lora was not Yori’s user anymore and Yori should have cared about her just as she was supposed to care for any human being. It was the curiosity which made her come, the chance to find out more about their past.

 

  He had made an offer, she remembered, to join him in his new system. It was not a question whether to refuse him: it was not their choice to stop serving their Users and to follow another. Except for _him_ : Tron did make that decision. Always eager for the new adventure, the safe life on the Grid was not enough for him anymore. That was what Yori kept on telling herself – that it was the promise of the new challenge which lured him, and that he would be back soon. It was easier that way, to convince herself that he had left for the hope of the new adventure, and not because being with the User had been more important for him. Flynn was clear when he made his offer: with replacing the laser, his gateway to the system, so he could be using it with his new experiment, he would not return to them anymore. It was a simple statement, but Tron’s face changed when he heard it, as if he had been threatened. They returned to the city, Tron, Yori and Ram; Ram, whose saved version had been recovered and reloaded by Flynn.

 

  They were watching the city from the top of the digital hill. It was time to decide: or they had decided already and it just needed to be pronounced. Yori was silent. It would have been so much easier if they did not love each other anymore – but they did. That feeling was respect, caring and affection: all the decent sentiments; not comparable to the definite commitment, to the blind admiration with which Tron had followed the User since Flynn had first set foot on the Grid.

 

  “Stay with me,” she said suddenly.

 

  “Come with us,” he told her the same time. They stared at one another desperately; that was when Yori knew that whatever had been between them, it was over. And he was gone for good, except for a very few, very short visits. Tron changed a lot: both his behavior, both his look became different. His appearance was User-like, very advanced in his new, dark combat suit, which covered his real circuitry. His disc was different too: Yori never saw him using this new one, yet she assumed that it was even more dangerous than the old one had used to be. He was talking about the new system warmly, about all the new programs, buildings and vehicles: he was happy… loving. Yori thought it was only her, who noticed that; then, after Tron’s second visit Dumont, who usually never gave an unbidden opinion, said:

 

  “I’m afraid, he will pay a great price for his decision. And the User will see the consequences as well.”

 

  Now, fifteen years later, Yori was heartbroken by those words. Not just because it was true, but because it reminded her of her old guardian and the fact that Dumont had not been there, amongst the surviving programs from the old system.

 

  They saw one another, for a couple times later: every new meeting fueled their mutual frustration and reluctance. And still, he was Yori’s last thought when the event occurred, he and sheer delight for his absence, so he would survive the coming devastation.

 

_My User. Did I love him because of your affection toward his User? Are my feelings the copies of your emotions the same way my look is the copy of your former appearance?_

 

  Those words remained unspoken and Lora was sitting in her seat, unassuming. Yori’s otherwise keen attention was at its peak because of her inner struggle and she noticed an unusually behaving couple a few seats away. It was a man and a woman in their forties. They looked like middle-aged professionals: a married couple? Yori reviewed the digital copy of their passports. They were not related, yet they traveled together and their tickets had been purchased together. They were watching Lora; it would have slipped a human’s notice, but not Yori’s, who was scanning the passengers with the routine of many cycles. Those two users were keeping an eye on Lora and something else – the overhead luggage bin above her head? The result of the detailed search came back while she was pondering: the two other passengers were the employees of a private security company in California. With a request for a favor she sent their information to Ram. Usually she did not know such thing, but this time was different and Ram was alert and on the search himself anyway. Yori was listening and waiting.

 

 

User

 

  There was some tension in the air as they were approaching their destination. Lora first acknowledged it as something attached to the long trip: some people stood up and were walking in the isles and a child was crying for a while. The woman from the American couple was stretching her legs too when Lora returned to her seat: she was walking along slowly and was looking for an empty place in a nearby luggage bin to place her handbag. She was checking the bin which belonged to Lora’s row, when Lora came back from the restroom. The other woman appeared to be mildly surprised as if she had not expected Lora to return already. Lora did not mind it: there was some empty space in that bin. She sat down; then she noticed the looks; the crew was watching the travelers intently. No, not all of them – the American couple. Those two must have seen it too, because the woman went back to her seat right away and they began to talk quietly.

 

  Lora took a short nap before landing. She had a coffee when she woke up: the previously so friendly stewardess was professional and quick now as well, but her smile was gone and she kept on glancing away. Lora looked back above her shoulder; now it was obvious that the whole crew was watching the Americans. That two seemed to be really nervous; Lora could not figure the reason of the general tenseness.

 

  Everybody stood up after the landing; they took their bags and started to head out. After taking the in-house shuttle and joining the line at the immigration counters, Lora forgot the unusual scenes on the plane. She was waiting in the line of foreigners for almost thirty minutes, with her passport and the embarkment form in her hands. She saw a few fellow passengers from her flight, but not the American couple. Lora found that strange; then her turn came at the counter and she stepped ahead.

 

  She picked up her luggage and walked to the arrival lobby. She turned her phone on and sent a message to Alan: it was nighttime at home by then. Outside there was a young Japanese woman waiting for her with a name sign: she was bowing and smiling widely. The trip to the city was long: Lora was watching the streets through the window of the vehicle. The Metropolitan Hotel, the home of their delegation was only a few minutes away from the Institute of Informatics in Chiyoda City.

 

  The other people from the group that had arrived before came back to the hotel later, after a sightseeing tour. They had dinner together: Lora was really exhausted by then and retired to her room right after. The day after they all went to the venue with a shuttle bus; there were smaller meetings and interviews. It was going to be a huge event: professionals from all over the world came to attend and there could be further conclusions as well – the results of the event and the responses it would generate, that could indicate the directions in the future of computer sciences.

 

  In the evening the rest of the group left for a dinner in the city. Lora stayed at the hotel: she was talking to Alan on the phone and then re-read her speech for one last time. Once finished she was lying on the bed with a cup of green tea. Absently she reached for the remote control of the television, and then she did not turn it on.

 

  Talk, the cavalcade of people, music and the flashes of cameras: the great auditorium was full, many people in the crowd were standing next to the walls and were listening to the speeches from there. Most of them were young people; some of them were holding cameras and microphones. They applauded for most of the attendees and booed at others – Lora was surprised at their active participation, their involvement. Spending most of her time with analyses and making statistics, reading studies and writing essays, she rarely encountered wider audiences. It was stunning to see all these young people, who were cheering and clapping for her as she was making her way to the tribune. _They do care_ , Lora thought, _they know what is at the stake_. She put her notes before her and looked up. The applause was still too loud; there was no point to start yet. She drank a sip of water and looked up, smiling. _We do make a difference_ , Lora thought. The audience began to still. She put her hands on the sides of the stand. She was about to start: for them, for all her own beliefs; because what happened in the digital world, it did matter. And because…

 

  “In there is a new world,” she heard the familiar voice in her head, unexpected. “In there is our future. In there is our destiny.”

 

  Lora blinked. The crowd fell silent. And she started to talk.

 

 

  ***

 

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It was overwhelming. All the media coverage, the number of the people that came… Honestly, I underestimated the importance of this conference.”

 

  He laughed on the other side.

 

  “I told you would enjoy it,” Alan replied. Lora smiled in her empty hotel room. Suddenly she did not feel like talking about the work anymore; she wished to be home.

 

  “How is Jet?” she asked.

 

  “He’s fine.  Left to see a movie with his friends.”

 

  She was staring at the view of the brightly lit city through the window.

 

  “Two days and I will be home,” she said. Alan was silent; she imagined him smiling.

 

  “Have you heard the news?” he asked, before they said goodbye.

 

  “What news? I didn’t watch TV here.”

 

  “They arrested two people for smuggling drugs, at the Tokyo airport. I believe they were on your flight. I didn’t want to distract you by asking before. It’s sort of a big deal; they are Americans and the CNN is all about the affair since two days.”

 

  “No,” Lora replied after a moment of hesitation. “I didn’t see anything.”

 

  She grabbed the remote control of the television once they hung up the phone. Soon the newscast started and Lora was sitting there, dumbfounded. On the screen there was the American couple from her flight, visibly distressed as they were escorted to a dark minivan, in the ring of local policemen. They had been arrested right after the arrival, the reporter explained; they had tried to discard the small bag of cocaine they had carried, but the cameras on board had recorded the action. The suspects maintained their innocence, yet they refused to make a statement. A heated discussion had escalated between the American and the local authorities since then: the Japanese laws were harsh when it came to drugs and the couple faced long years in prison now.

 

  Lora listened to the news silently and then turned off the television. Her thoughts were racing. The looks from the couple since the beginning of the trip, the way the woman had opened Lora’s luggage bin. But she had not put anything there: by then the crew was watching them.

 

 _Was that pack supposed to make its way into my carry-on luggage?_ The couple was in big trouble, but so would have been Lora, should the cocaine been found in her bag. If there would be no other evidence, if the American authorities were vocal enough, if, if… she would have escaped the long prison term. But she would have lost her government job and her reputation would have been ruined forever. Everything she had ever said and written would be questioned, even if it was about computer studies. Lora was not sure if Alan could have kept his job at ENCOM after such a disaster. Were not the shareholders looking for an excuse to get rid of him, like forcing him to resign as a chairman had not been enough? Their lives would have been ruined, had that pack of cocaine been found in Lora’s bag.

 

 _But why would they do it,_ she was thinking desperately _, and if they had a reason, if this is true, why did not they put it there? Because they were being watched. But why? At the beginning of the flight everything seemed to be normal, there was no suspicion._

_What happened on that plane?_

 

Program

 

  “They are working for a private security firm in Southern California,” Ram’s voice came from the transmitter.

 

  “Do they know the User?”

 

  “No relevant information. But…”

 

  “What is that?”

 

  “Does the name FCon ring a bell for you?”

 

  It did not, but as soon it was told, Yori began to conduct an extensive search for it and within one second a bluish logo and pages of text surfaced before her. Something about the company – Future Control Industries – made her cringe even before she found the names of the executives.

 

  Edward Dillinger. First Yori missed it; and then the memories began to rise. They started to remember differently, she and Ram – Ram must have remembered Flynn’s stories about his old opponent, the User who had created Sark, the evil, ruthless champion of their old home. Yori could recall those stories as well, but she had her more memories of Sark, the merciless commander of the MCP.

 

  “Yes,” she replied quietly. “It does ring a bell.”

 

  “FCon is one of the clients of this security company and FCon had wired a larger sum of money to them, not long before these two people’s plane tickets were purchased.”

 

  Yori was processing the information.

 

  “Thank you,” she said. Her attention returned to the Users. It was time for her to leave; she got what she had come for. Yori’s memories were coming back and she saw the User who had created her. There were other, burning questions, like Kevin Flynn’s and Tron’s whereabouts; but those were issues she could not do much for. Flynn was a User and AIs were not supposed to take individual actions when it came to Users, or investigate humans. And Tron… if he had been in another closed system at the time of Flynn’s disappearance, then he was most probably derezzed by now.

 

  Yet she did not leave. Sadness descended on her; bearing the knowledge she had been craving for so long did not provide any comfort, it just raised new questions. And that couple was watching Lora: what was on their minds? Had they been really sent by FCon, and if so, why? Regardless of the answer, Yori was not supposed to do anything. Move, something inside her shouted, try to make contact, ask! Of course it was impossible and the creatures of the digital world were not to seek direct contact with Users. There were applications to make sure that this law was enforced and the punishment for any attempt was immediate deresolution.

 

  The decision was made before Yori admitted it to herself. She sent out a security warning to the crew on duty in Tokyo: the same message that was sent when somebody, who was sought by the authorities, attempted to board a plane or when a traveler’s passport or visa was apparently fake. For now the JAL security personnel had no way of knowing that there was no reason to make the alert; they would contact the crew of the aircraft and warn them to keep an eye on the suspicious passengers. Yori knew that something was wrong with them: yet raising the alert was a dangerous thing to do. Should the couple pass the security screening after landing, there would be questions, why the computer system had generated the alert.

 

  _Why_ , she asked herself, looking at the view of the interior cameras. Because there was nothing else to do: in a few hours the plane would land and Lora would walk away. Yori would sense her again in four days, when the User would fly back to the US; and most probably that would be their last encounter. Lora Baines would go back to her life: to the User world that missed Flynn’s mighty dreams. And so would go Yori, back to the work, to the happiness she had found – to the digital universe which was full of brave creatures, but would never know the greatest one, who had once lived in a forgotten system.

 

  The plane crew received the alert a few minutes after Yori’s message. Whatever the couple’s plan had been previously, they could forget it in the crossfire of glances. A few hours later Yori watched Lora as she was leaving the plane; and was watching the airport police arresting the Americans for carrying a small pack. She knew now that that pack was supposed to end up in Lora’s purse. Yori hoped that the disastrous ending of their attempt would make the people behind the set up think twice before trying anything once more. To do anything else would have been overstepping boundaries; and Yori could not take more risk at that time.

 

 

User

 

  Lora just closed the door behind herself when she heard her phone beeping: she got a text message. She was pulling her suitcase behind her and her purse was in her other hand; for that she could not check the message right away. She was on the way to the lobby to check out and meet the other members of the group: a shuttle bus was going to take them to the airport. In the elevator Lora brought out her cell phone. She thought it would be a message from Alan, wishing her a safe trip. Instead of that it was an address.

 

  „Wired Cafe 360. Jingumae 4-32-16, Shibuya.”

 

  Lora was confused: she had not given her number to anybody local. She checked the phone number from where the message had come from – it was a Japanese number. Other times she would have deleted the message without a second thought: now she was more than sensitive to unexpected events. She dialed the phone number. It was the automated information line of the Japan Airlines with no option to talk to an operator.

 

  She exited the elevator, sunk in her thoughts. The airline had her phone number; that was the number she had given them, when the plane tickets had been purchased. But what was the message supposed to mean and who had sent it? Was it meant to her? It had been surely sent to a foreigner, considering that the address was not written in Japanese. Lora checked her watch.

 

  “Can you tell me, where is this address?” she asked the young man behind the hotel counter. She learnt that the place was twenty minutes away from the hotel. Lora decided quickly; she checked out and left a message to her people, asking them not to wait for her. She left her suitcase at the hotel and took a cab to the Shibuya.

 

  The high end internet café and restaurant was located on the upper level of the building. Lora walked inside in a hurry. The place was busy at the early afternoon hour: servers were delivering trays to the tables and all the computers at the window were occupied. Lora was turning her head, looking for somebody she would recognize, somebody who was looking for her. But there were only local people, mostly young professionals, eating and talking.

 

  Lora slowly stopped and looked at the computers. Many people were using handheld devices; the place must have been a wireless network access point as well: an important virtual hot spot even in the developed city of Tokyo. Lora took out her cell phone and looked at the number. An automated information line, with no human support. And the events on the plane – the crew had begun to watch the Americans when they had been in the middle of the trip. They had gotten a tip from somewhere: however in none of the reports they actually said that. That could be for the sake of the investigation, but still, Lora began to feel surreal.

 

_This message is not for me._

 

  Instantly she felt that it was not true: the message was hers, typed in a way so that she could read it. But the invitation… the invitation was not hers.

 

  Quickly she saved the text on the card and then she left; she had to catch a cab back to the hotel to pick up her luggage and take a shuttle to the airport.

 

 

Program

 

  It was in the middle of the night in the city. Some of the transpacific flights were in the air, with Lora’s plane amongst them. Yori was watching the starless, digital sky intently.

 

  “We are not doing anything,” Ram’s voice came from the transmitter. “Do you hear me?”

 

  “Yes,” Yori replied, suddenly irritated. “Don’t you want to find out more about our origins?”

 

  “I found out a lot already, and there is more to come.”

 

  “If they knew, that they should look for another server and the laser, they would have an idea and…”

 

  “They don’t need our hints,” Ram burst. “Do you remember, why we are not supposed to try and instruct Users?”

 

  “Because we have different point of views,” Yori replied, reluctantly.

 

  “Exactly. Because we see things differently. Our simplified way of thinking can not be adopted to the User world, because we don’t have that kind of consideration. How many times they tried? And it almost always led to horrible failures.”

 

  “I know,” she admitted quietly. “So we will live with the knowledge, that we didn’t do anything.”

 

  “You did. And it is an action to let things happen in the way and at the time they would happen on their own.”

 

  “What does that mean?”

 

  “My original User is still in contact with _his_ User,” Ram said with some pride in his voice, and that emotion was contrary to the cold and calculated manner he had been talking until then. “They are still looking and so do many other people. New Users are coming into the picture. We have to… wait.”

 

  “I know,” Yori said. She sighed. Seven thousand miles away Lora’s flight began to descend and prepare for landing. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know, what happened? Don’t you want to see them again?”

 

  “I do. And it might happen. However… In the meantime you can consider, exactly what you want from them. From him. If he ever comes back, will that change anything? The way you live?”

 

  She was contemplating.

 

  “No,” Yori said slowly. “It was his decision to leave and at the time of the event we were not… But I still want to know that he is alright.”

 

  “So do I,” Ram said. “Are you willing to wait in order to achieve that? You have played your card when you sent that warning. They will keep an eye on you from now on.”

 

  “I know,” she replied. Descent. The speed brakes were activated and the wheels were lowered. “And thank you.”

 

  There was a moment of silence.

 

  “End of line,” Ram said. On the other side of the globe Lora’s plane landed and began to taxi to the gate. Yori started to walk on the busy, brightly lit street slowly and then in a quickening pace. She did not tell Ram about the message she had sent to Lora: Ram would have been upset by such unprofessional behavior. And he had been right; Yori got to be careful.

 

  She had a date with Ryuu – later on she planned to stop by at the Shibuya. Yori used to spend a lot of time there and now she got one more reason to stick around.

 

  A long wait started.

 

 


End file.
